Some writers have a certain thing about them. You know what to expect of their work.

I expect my own work to be a bit unstable in this way. I’m a young writer, I’m still trying to find my voice. I’ll most likely work my way through many clichés before I find it. I’m fine with this.

I didn’t expect my work to have its own thing yet. This morning I had a strange conversation with my partner, who was talking to a friend about my work. The friend asked what kind of writing I do.

D’s reply?


Depressing? Really? Oh dear. I know he said it with respect, he’s one of my most helpful ears to test things on. He’s honest.

But I don’t want to be that! There are writers I no longer want to read because they produce the same story over and over. While I know that I’m young and producing a reliable stream of crap, I also thought my writing had a certain amount of newness. I thought I told more than one story, had more than one tone.

Depressing? Excuse me while I have an existential crisis!